Nancy Gaudet
“THIS IS THE END OF ONE LOVE STORY AND THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER,” WRITES NANCY GAUDET. “SOMETIMES THE ROAD WE TRAVEL IS NOT THE ONE WE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE.” SOMETIMES THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. BUT NANCY BELIEVES THERE ARE “GOD INSTANCES.”
I believe there are times when a higher power, something far bigger than ourselves, is at work in the universe. Once in a while, we are lucky and are in the right place to cross paths with someone special. I realize some might think this sounds crazy, and to a non-believer, probably sounds like a bunch of bullshit. However, the story I am about to tell you happened to real people. There is a beginning, a middle, and an end. In the next decade of my life, when my memory fades, I will have these words to recall this time in my life. It is my sincerest wish that it gives someone else like me the gift of hope.
FALL 2019
In October, about 2 hours after completing a 100-mile bike ride in Florida to raise money for Type 1 Diabetes, I had a massive seizure and ended up in a Neuro Intensive Care Unit for 5 days. My company flew a dear friend, Cynthia, to Florida to help bring me home. She thought she would be there for a day. Instead, she sat at my bedside for 4 days. I learned that the seizure was caused by hyponatremia, a condition caused by low sodium. I also developed rhabdomyolysis, a syndrome that breaks down muscle tissue and can cause organ failure or death, if not treated urgently. My kidneys were failing and I was close to needing dialysis. I remember the hospital chaplain reading me my last rights and praying. The doctors pumped me with IV fluids, did CAT scans on my brain, and induced rest, all the while waiting for my kidneys to respond in a normal manner. I could not walk for many days.
When I could slowly walk down the hall, they sent me home on day 8 with a script for physical therapy and a visiting nurse. Cynthia patiently waited for my condition to improve and helped me navigate back to Boston. I consider myself to be fiercely independent and strong, but I did not feel remotely strong and I found depending on others to be strangely frightening and vulnerable. I was told I needed to rest for 12 weeks. That meant no working, no driving, and no strenuous activity. It would be 24 weeks before I could ride my bike again. I had a difficult time showering and making myself a cup of tea. I could barely walk. Living alone certainly has its advantages—until it doesn’t. Perspective. I was fortunate that there was no permanent brain damage and I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky to have survived the entire incident. If I had that seizure in my hotel room the outcome would have been drastically different.
My true friends, family, and colleagues show up. They bring me food, drive me to doctors’ appointments, and set up my computer at home. Flowers arrive daily. So do deliveries of homemade soup, cards, and get well wishes. I feel very blessed by all of the kindness. I am somewhat surprised that so many people are concerned and show such respect and love for me. It feels like a gift! I separated from my husband after leaving an extremely toxic marriage. The greatest joy I received from that marriage was my one and only son, Ryan.
I have spent the months since, recovering, reflecting, and taking a long, hard look at myself. I recently came across a quote by author Edith Eger “Our painful experiences aren’t a liability—they’re a gift. They give us perspective and meaning, an opportunity to find our unique purpose and our strength.”
My new best friends are the visiting nurse and the physical therapist. My new reality is my lovely, sunlit 2-bedroom apartment, an overstuffed easy chair, and the Hallmark Channel. This predicament has forced me to slow my life down to a screeching halt. I am one of those people that can’t ever say “no” and have a long list of things to do on a daily basis. If I keep busy, then there is not a lot of time to sit with my feelings.
I often wonder why God saved me. I think of my ride buddy, Kelly, who had the horror of watching my seizure and who would have been the one to tell Ryan that she was the last person to speak to me or see me alive. I feel awful about that. Perhaps God has a plan for each of us. With renewed gratitude, I implement a daily ritual of prayer and deep-breathing exercises. I need some advice and a plan. I am thinking long and hard about my purpose here on earth. I need strength and I’m in search of answers.
WINTER 2019
At about 10 weeks into my recovery, I break all the rules and drive myself 5 miles to church for a Saturday afternoon mass. It has been weeks since I went to church. During the homily, the priest tells us to all go home and write our own obituary! It was as if God was speaking directly to me. In his remarks, the priest said it is important to know how we want to be remembered. He spoke about the dash—that line between the year of birth and year of death in every obituary and on every gravestone. He preached that, “In this life, when all is said and done, it is not important how much we own, what kind of car we drive, or how much money we make. What matters most is how we live in our ‘dash.’” He challenged me to think about the things in our life that might need changing while we still had the time. Those remarks haunted me for days. Was it just a coincidence or a “God instance?” I perseverate over these questions, “How will they remember me? How am I living in my dash?”
I feel blessed that I have a wonderful career that I have worked hard at for more than 30 years. In the property management business, every day is fast-paced, and no 2 days are the same. I have the good fortune of working with the same team throughout this time. I am surrounded by colleagues that share the same values and work ethic. We are like a family, and I have grown into a leadership position that aligns with my own personality, goals, and aspirations. Now sitting at home, it is time for me to pause, refer to my growing bucket list, and do some scrutinizing of exactly how I am living in my dash. That untimely seizure gave me a rare opportunity to reflect on so very many things. I do not have any of my wishes recorded on paper. I have an unfulfilled bucket list and the gift of more time to change things. I made a commitment to myself to take control of my life. I ended some friendships that were just not working for me. I cherished and thanked the friends that were there for me during a desperate time. I started saying “I love you” before saying “goodbye.” I hugged people like it could be the last time I would see them. I woke up grateful for another day on this earth. I prayed every morning for God to help me become the very best version of myself.
I get busy doing some things out of my comfort zone. I sign up for an acting class at a community theater around the corner from my apartment and do a Google search for ballroom dancing lessons near me. I call my attorney to finalize my divorce. I get busy writing my will, changing the beneficiaries on all my accounts, and making sure to protect everything I worked so hard for.
For the final task on my checklist, I took the plunge and joined a dating website! Online dating was awkward, interesting, and somewhat amusing. I have not dated for more than 30 years! The dating website was full of singles, divorced people, and those seeking everlasting love. The algorithm, based on questions I answer, is guaranteed to find me the very best match. Being the bottom-line person that I am, I look only at the profiles of men who are greater than a 90% match and within a 60-mile radius. My profile consists of a few decent photos, a short bio, and a list of 3 things I am looking for in a partner:
1. Make me laugh
2. Make me dinner
3. Ask me about my day (and listen to my answer!)
Not a tall order. A very short list.
I go on several lunch dates (even though I am keenly aware that I look way better in candlelight). To me, dinner seems like too much of a commitment. I make small talk, look for kindness, a sense of adventure, and someone who can make me laugh. I have a rule that we must talk on the phone before I will go on a date. There are way more phone chats than meetings, and finding my true love seems like an improbable task!
Sadly, most of my dates talk way more than they listen. They say they hate their jobs, are counting the days until retirement, and seem to want someone to take care of them. So much for algorithms! My lunch dates include a fisherman from Nantucket, a silver fox from Braintree, a Christian Scientist from Newton, an optometrist (who was all hands) from Rhode Island, and the guy with a golden doodle.
I have a couple of lunch dates with a lumberjack from Cape Cod. We decide it will be fun to give ballroom dance lessons a whirl. He has two left feet and no sense of rhythm. Our weekly dinner dates, followed by dance lessons, quickly become a chore on my to-do list. He seems excited to see me, makes it a point to ask me about my day, continuously makes attempts at telling me jokes—I give him credit for being mindful of my checklist. But, when he eagerly asks if I am going to sign up for the next set of dance lessons, I politely inform him that I am planning to take tennis lessons. My longest dating relationship terminated in the parking lot after dance class.
I thoroughly enjoy acting classes! The feedback from my classmates and the teacher is that I am an “articulate storyteller” with an innate ability to portray whatever character I am assigned as “extremely believable.” I feel a small glimmer of hope that maybe someday, before I turn 75 years old, I could possibly be on the big screen. I sign up for the next session right away. I am embracing new things!
As the calendar rolls forward to 2020, I decide to take a break from online dating. I am bound and determined to continue down this new road of discovery.
In mid-January, my son Ryan, goes off to Florence, Italy, to study in his junior year of college. I am thrilled for him and in full-on panic for me. I can only think of the complications that could arise if he needs medical attention for his Type 1 Diabetes. I smile and hug him long and hard at the airport but cry alone in my car all the way home. Ryan had traveled to Europe many times since he was a teenager. He is a semi-pro cyclist on Team Novo Nordisk, an international professional cycling team made up of athletes with diabetes. The first time he traveled to Europe, he was just 15 years old. He flew off to Belgium, alone, with his bike and diabetes supplies. I survived all those trips, but the longest duration was about 20 days, not more than 100 days as this trip would be! I said a silent prayer and asked God to watch over him. To alleviate my fears, we made a pact that I would fly to Florence and visit him at the end of his semester to celebrate our milestone birthdays: 21 and 60. That allowed me something to look forward to and gave me a shot at maintaining my sanity. We would ride our bikes together in the hills of Tuscany, eat pasta for lunch with warm, fresh bread dipped in olive oil, and sip a good Brunello di Montalcino together.
SPRING 2020
We are all fully aware of how the world has changed. Coronavirus hits Italy hard and early on. This is a global pandemic. Hospitals in Italy are at capacity, people are dying daily, cities are being evacuated. The borders to neighboring countries are being closed, students at universities are abruptly sent home as colleges close their programs. It is a mad scramble and several days of anxiety trying to get my son a flight back home. The photos all over social media of trucks lined up in the streets of Italy waiting to remove the dead bodies are horrifying to me! Ryan returns safely, but heartbroken. He was having the time of his life “living the dream,” he said. At this point, there is no way to even test for the virus in the states. Ryan quarantines for 14 days and I pray he does not have the virus. This catastrophic event changes everything about our daily lives.
As the world is spiraling out of control, in early March, my dear friend of more than 25 years gets some very bad news: her husband has just been diagnosed with glioblastoma, a rare and aggressive form of brain cancer. John is only 58 years old and is fit and healthy, playing basketball just 2 weeks prior to his diagnosis. His youngest daughter is still only a sophomore in high school and 2 other children are in college. The 2 of us cried together about this long road of uncertainty ahead for them. I happen to be pretty good at fundraising and tell myself that God will work through me and I will help my friend. This is something I am meant to do.
I learn that John’s best friend, Chris, has purchased a used handicap-accessible van for them and has offered to drive her husband to Boston for his daily radiation treatments. I wonder, “What kind of friend buys someone a van and helps take them to radiation every day?” These 2 men met in little league when they were 8 years old. That means they have been friends for over 5 decades! Chris shows up every morning with a cup of coffee and a smile on his face. My friend connected Chris and I and we spoke about fundraising ideas over the phone, but at times we both became emotional about John. A few days after our initial call, I sent him the book “Chasing Daylight,” a true story about a man with glioblastoma. I suggested it would help Chris know what is coming and how he can help his best friend. We continue working on our fundraising: recruiting friends, setting up committees and wondering all the while if it is possible to raise any money during a global pandemic. In a world of darkness, I am hoping to find just a tiny sliver of light.
After several business calls with a man I have never met, I become very interested to know more. I turn to Google. I am always amazed that anything you want to know is just a few clicks away! I find a wealth of information. Chris is 57 years old, holds 2 Master’s degrees, has 2 children in their 20s, has a successful career, and an address on the North Shore. He is involved in some very significant fundraising efforts and charity work and has been dubbed “Man of the Year” by a local charity. It is evident that he is a master fundraiser.
If you were to Google me, the results would show that I am 60 years old and a senior vice president of a family-owned real estate management company south of Boston. I hold one Master’s degree, have one child in his 20s and an address on Cape Cod. I host a monthly support group for moms of children with Type 1 Diabetes. I spend a fair amount of time training on my bike for century rides, volunteering at JDRF programs, and raising thousands of dollars for diabetes research.
The Google search made me feel hopeful. I felt excited. I thought, together we can really do something great for our friends. I was so excited to do something positive. This was really a sliver of light.
One Friday night we decide to speak on the phone and discuss business over a glass of wine. We talk about our dear friends and the heartbreak we feel. We talk about how much money we think we can raise. We discussed our jobs, our children, and where we went to college. We learn that we grew up a town apart and that last Thanksgiving we were both at John and my friend’s house with dozens of other friends but never met!
After a few glasses of wine, we realized we had been talking for almost 5 hours! I reluctantly suggested that we should hang up, though I admit, I could have talked for several more hours. Talking to him was like putting on an old sweatshirt—comfortable, warm, and cozy. I learned that we liked the same music, the same food and wine, the same people, sports, books, tv shows. Was I flirting? I made him laugh! He made me laugh! The connection was surreal. The following morning, I felt compelled to send a text: “What is worse—an alcohol hangover or a vulnerability hangover?” Minutes later he responded with, “HA HA! GREAT question!” I could not stop thinking about him. I wondered if he was thinking about me at all.
A week later, we were back on the phone talking long into the night. I learned that we had a lot of common interests and similar personalities. We both came from humble beginnings. We both had an energy and passion for causes and people we loved. Getting to know him was like reading a really good book and I could not wait to turn the page.
SUMMER 2020
Chris and I have many more phone calls and fun texts. We talk about books, our present living situation, the pandemic and how it has changed our lives, our children, and religion. He was a football player and I was a cheerleader! We discuss our college experiences and how we each paid for our own education. We talk about how we both live alone and work a lot. He eventually admits to watching the Hallmark Channel and says he definitely believes in fairy-tale endings. I immediately inform him that my own life-experience is not remotely similar to any of the Hallmark movies! The idea of a Prince Charming is a myth, and I absolutely do not believe in fairy-tale endings. When I inquire about what happened to his marriage he says, “It is complicated.” When he asks what happened to my marriage I say, “It’s complicated.” We leave that subject alone.
At this point, most businesses are closed. We are in lock down. We have several Zoom calls with the fundraising committees about virtual events, as we know gathering in person will most likely be improbable for many more months. It is early June by now, the world is still a very scary place. Chris informs me that we have spent more than 400 hours on the phone! Imagine speaking to someone whom you have never met in person for that long? He does not seem real. For all I know, he could be a psychopath. I have not yet told anyone about him. I wonder if he was a gift from God.
I have only seen Chris’s face on a few Zoom calls with the fundraising committees. I boldly suggest we schedule a private Zoom. He eagerly agrees and by 7:00 p.m. we are drinking wine and showing each other our apartments. This is not really a “date” so I do nothing to prepare. I am wearing an old sweatshirt and baggy shorts; I wear very little make up and have no polish on my nails. My grey roots are at least 3 inches long! I am rethinking this idea but throw caution to the wind! This is me. I am who I am; I am a 60-year-old woman with flaws and wrinkles.
We have such easy banter, just like on the telephone. We talk until Zooms cuts us off at the stroke of an hour, but continue on the phone for several more. He tells me that the pandemic is one of the best things that ever happened to him ... He says that he learned a great deal about himself during the pandemic and will not go back to his former way of life. I share with him the story of my seizure and that it was one of the best things that happened to me. I tell him how it allowed me to take a long hard look at myself and my life and determine what is really important. I have spent the last 2 years living alone, trying to move forward and become the very “best version” of myself. I say that it is time for me to close this chapter and I do truly believe that God has a plan.
A few weeks into June we realize that lock down is not changing anytime soon. This round of radiation treatments will end soon, and I ask Chris to help me set up John’s room so his wife can work next to his bed. We decide to meet there, for the first time in person, and then have lunch outside in a socially-distanced manner.
I am nervous. When I walk into my friend’s living room, my eyes lock with his. My heart does, in fact, skip a beat and I feel my throat catch. This is not what I expect. I do not want to feel anything! My friend introduces us and we all laugh at how he and I had never actually met in person until that very moment. We get busy building a desk together. We joke around a lot during the process and the same easy banter we have had over the phone continues in person. We both agree to keep our blossoming friendship a secret for the time being. We leave in our separate cars but meet in a parking lot and drive together to his friend’s vacant home north of Boston. We spend our time walking on the beach, me showing him how to look for sea glass. He brought some special Italian wine he thought I might like since I missed a trip to Italy for my birthday. I am impressed with his thoughtfulness. We eat outside on the patio overlooking the ocean. We watch the most perfect vibrant sunset of orange and pink. We build a fire and listen to music. We learn that we are both big Bruce Springsteen fans! The song “Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts starts to play and I am struck by the lyrics.
I set out on a narrow way many years ago/Hoping I would find true love along the broken road/But I got lost a time or two/Wiped my brow and kept pushing through/I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you.
Thankful for the darkness, I desperately want to stop time and hold onto this most perfect moment forever. We realize we have to drive a long way home. We awkwardly do this half-handshake-half-hug. This was not a date. But if it were a date, it would definitely be in the top three of my entire life! I smile all the way home.
The next day, he calls me and says that he had the best time and suggests we do something outside again the following weekend. I emphatically inform him that these are to be considered “adventures” not dates because I am terrible at dating. Since he already learned about all my bad dates, he wholeheartedly agrees, adding that we are much too old to be “dating.”
As the days turn into weeks, we take turns planning adventures and bike rides. After one particular adventure he makes me dinner. No other man has ever been to my apartment. Chris is the very first man in my life to make me dinner. I recall getting out of the shower and finding him in my kitchen in his pajamas already prepping for dinner. He has a glass of wine waiting for me on the counter top. This is my fantasy! To sit here on my bar stool and just sip wine, talk, and watch someone else make me dinner. After dinner we watch a movie and hold hands on the couch like teenagers. Chris stays over and sleeps in my son’s room. He is a true gentleman.
In the morning, we watch the sun rise, and drink coffee together. At this point, we have hugged, we have held hands, and snuggled on the couch. Then finally, we kiss. It was so worth the wait. It was that singular, slow-motion moment when two very bruised and battered hearts let the tiny droplets of love seep in ever so slowly. It feels like a gift from God. We do nothing more than that. I am too scared. As the summer rolls on, we ride our bikes on the Cape Cod Canal, on the Rail trail, along the coast in Rhode Island. We walk the beach, eat fried clams, and learn so much about each other. I am feeling scared, but having fun.
We have mobilized 2 groups of people to help our friends. We have managed to help raise over $150,000 and planned a 1-day virtual Walk/Run/Ride event with more than 140 participants. The event includes a parade of people in matching T-shirts walking by John’s house so he can watch from his driveway in his wheelchair. This event raises another $30,000! At this point, the radiation treatments have stopped, and John’s condition is slowly declining.
FALL 2020
Chris and I begin to meet at church with masks on sitting 6 feet apart. We pray for our friends and I also say a silent prayer for myself: “Are you there God? Please, please send me a sign that spending time with Chris is the right thing for me to do at this point in my life. I am feeling scared. I have the urge to just run away in the opposite direction. I really need a sign!” I have this conversation with God and ask for a sign for 3 consecutive days.
The following weekend I receive a package from The Vermont Teddy Bear Company. Inside the box is an adorable little stuffed dog. The card reads, “Maybe start here. I named her Faith. She will always come when you call her.” Chris tells me it isn’t from him. I text some friends. I call the Vermont Teddy Bear Company. I cannot figure out who sent this gift. The next day, my assistant asks if I recently received a package—she sent me the dog! She reminded me of a recent conversation about me getting a dog during COVID. She had joked that with my busy lifestyle, I would be better suited to raising a stuffed dog than a real one. Of all the names in the universe, I asked, why did she choose the name Faith? She replied, “Because life is all about faith, hope, and love.” I closed my office door and sobbed at my desk. That was the sign I asked for! That was the sign that I prayed for! I truly believe God was telling me to take a leap of faith.
When 2 very bruised and battered hearts collide at exactly the right moment, I have to believe that something bigger is at work, that God has a plan. I believe that when you truly open your eyes and ears and heart to what God has to say, you will understand. Chris and I are wildly, deeply, joyously in love. All those conversations ,slowly learning about each other, paved the way for a deep and lasting connection. Working together to help our friends was something that brought us together. I truly believe it was a God instance. In the most unlikely time, when the world was a dark and scary place, together we found that tiny sliver of light.
Chris told me he fell in love with me from the inside out, my heart first. I tell Chris that meeting him felt like a gift from God.
In October of 2020, Chris’s best friend, John, passed away. It was a Sunday. I believe only angels die on Sundays.
SPRING 2022
On May 6, 2022, the day I turned 62 years old, Chris and I closed on a house in a gated community located in Plymouth. We plan to retire there together in the next 5 years and spend our time drinking good wine, riding our bikes, and making each other laugh. Once in a lifetime, if we are very lucky, someone comes into our life that we really connect with heart to heart, soul to soul. A connection happens, friendships develop, and we find lasting love right where we are.
God blessed the broken road that led us here.
